‘Oh, and interesting team selection, by the way, putting Hutchinson in at five and making Dean captain. I was going to mention it, but, no, no, I think I shall trust your judgement. Good day, Dr Smith.’ And he left.

Smith closed his case, picked it up and slowly walked to the door.

All of a sudden, he found himself wishing for evening.

Benny glanced at her watch. Smith was late again. Every Friday lunchtime, they had a regular date outside the Farmers’ Arms, and every Friday lunchtime, he was late. The little cluster of tables outside the pub was filling up with customers, and she was sitting there marooned, unable to pop in and order a pint alone. Or a half, rather, or if she was being particularly civilized and non-threatening, a flipping sherry.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. The day felt parched and distant, the result of only getting an hour or so’s sleep near dawn. The darkness under her eyes was so great that she’d given in to temptation and applied some strategic foundation. Better that than look like a panda. Oh well, only another three Fridays to go, then they could go. Being somewhere else would be good, but being in the future, her personal future, would be better. A year on, and she’d feel a bit more together, and she just wanted to get to that.

For one thing, she wanted to ask the Doctor why on earth he’d done anything as insane as this. If it was some sort of reaction to what she was experiencing, then it wasn’t the most useful response in the world.

Benny closed her eyes, wishing that the day wasn’t so bright. When she opened them again, Dr Smith was sitting opposite her, a big grin on his face. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘How are you? And how’s your father?’

‘I’m fine. He’s fine,’ Benny replied ritualistically, feeling a great urge to grind her teeth together. ‘And how are you, Uncle John?’

‘Confused. Happy. Both. I’ll tell you in a minute. What would you like to drink? Sherry?’

‘Three pints of ESB and a straw.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Sherry, yes, that’d be lovely.’ By the time he’d returned with the drinks, in his case a lemonade, she’d quietened herself a bit. It was just that she would have liked to have had somebody to talk to. It wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t be that person right now. She made herself sip the sherry instead of throwing it back and banging the glass on the table. ‘So, what’s confusing you?’

‘There’s a woman. She’s called Joan. She teaches science. I think that she doesn’t like me.’

‘Doesn’t like you? Why?’